Unmasked
by Muffintine
Summary: [hiatus] AUAH. Caroline Forbes is not a hero. Not even close. She's just a simple journalist. That's it. End of story. Except, when you have the power of invisibility, it's kind of hard to resist playing the hero. And then there is Niklaus Mikaelson, the devilishly handsome enigma of a man who she isn't quite sure is on her side. But damn, he looks good in a suit. Klaroline.
1. Chapter I

**Hey everyone, and welcome to my new story! Don't worry, Light The Way will still get regular updates. I have just been playing around with this idea for some time now and finally got around to writing it! This story is a little different, since it is placed in present time and is AU. Everyone is human... well, as human as humans can be with super powers!  
**

**Don't own. Never will. Anything you don't recognize is mine.  
**

**Special thanks to Tanya, Lulu and Kat for all of their help. You guys are incredible.  
**

**Enjoy. ;)  
**

* * *

.

_Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within._

.

**TUESDAY**

**12:03 AM**

_Mikaelson Corporation_

.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open with a silent whoosh, revealing a woman. She is tall, lithe and dark-haired with almond colored skin that looks almost radiant in the dim lightening. A soft smirk dances across her lips as she strides forward, her heels clicking against the marble flooring. She walks with purpose; a woman on a mission. She takes a deep breath and rounds the next corner with a clumsy calculated misstep, colliding with a firm, male body.

The man falls to the floor, his files scattering everywhere.

"Oh my gosh," she gushes, dropping down beside him. "I'm _so_ sorry!"

The man's face flushes a light scarlet as he rushes to collect the files. "It's okay," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

"Let me help you with those," she says, voice sickly sweet. She moves forward, thin fingers reaching for one, thin, black folder in particular.

The man swats away her hand. "No, I got it," he says with an irritated edge.

The woman's lips twist downwards into a displeased scowl. "Well then," she snaps, rolling her eyes. "I suppose I'm going to have to do this the _hard_ way."

Confusion flits briefly across the man's face as he brings his eyes to meet hers. He gasps audibly.

She flashes forward then, quick as lightening, grabbing the man tightly by the chin and forcing him to hold her gaze. "Katerina Petrova," she says, voice like silk. "A pleasure, I'm sure." She laughs lightly and cocks her head a touch to the right. "Now," she breathes, her pupils dilating slightly, "you will do _exactly_ as I say."

The man relaxes, his iron grip on the files loosening ever so slightly. He nods as a sort of fog overcomes his senses. "Exactly," he mimics.

Katerina's smile is downright predatory. "Wonderful," she purrs as she helps the man to his feet. She leans up close to him, pressing her curvaceous body into his. "Isn't there somewhere more private we could go?" she asks, sliding her hand up the side of the man's face, keeping his eyes firmly trained on her.

He gazes at her as if she is his whole world. "My office," he supplies softly.

Katerina laughs and pulls away from the man, but not before clasping his hand in hers. "Don't just stand there," she sing-songs, "lead the way."

The man nods obediently. He leads her to a secluded office. The hour is late, leaving the office building nearly devoid of its loyal employees. Katerina follows the man into his personal office, locking the door behind her. She watches silently as the man places the important folders on his desk. When he turns back around, she is mere inches from his face. "What are those lovely files you have there?" she asks seductively as she leans up towards him, only stopping when her lips are a breath away from his.

"Mr. Mikaelson requested them," the man replies dutifully.

"Did he now?" she breathes. "And which Mikaelson brother would that have been?"

"Elijah."

"Of course," she whispers with a scoff, "he always was the curiously _clever_ one." She smirks. "No matter. You'll give me the file I want, won't you...," she glances down at the nameplate placed prominently at the head of the desk, "Mason? _Hm?_"

Mason's head bobs up and down in affirmation.

Katerina smirks and separates herself from Mason, walking around him to plop down in the desk's lavish chair. She reaches forward eagerly, threading her fingers through the multitude of files until she comes to the one she has sought out. She separates it from the rest and brings it to the edge of the desk. Sliding her index finger inside of the flap, she flips it open briefly. Her eyes scan its contents with a scowl. "My, my," she utters in distaste, "it seems someone has gotten a little too curious for his own good."

Katerina gets to her feet then and tucks the folder safely under the left side of her jacket. She turns her attentions back to Mason, cupping his face in her hand and forcing him to face her. Her pupils dilate once again and her voice takes on a fairytale quality, "I am going to leave this office now. Wait five minutes before you pull your pistol out of the bottom most drawer in your desk," Katerina stands on her tip toes and brushes her lips against Mason's right ear, "Let it sit in your hand for a moment. Memorize the way its weight feels clasped in your hand. Then, I want you to place the gun in your mouth and _pull the trigger_."

Numbly, Mason nods. His eyes are devoid of true understanding.

"Good bye," she whispers, "you were _most _helpful." Katerina waits a beat. She looks at Mason one last time before she leans up and places a swift and chaste kiss on his lips.

Without another word, she turns by her heel and exits Mason Lockwood's office. The door closes with a soft click behind her.

Five minutes later a loud bang echoes throughout the empty offices.

.

**11:35 AM**

_Mikaelson Corporation_

.

Klaus frowns, furrowing his brows in frustrated displeasure. Only hours before, he had arrived at Mikaelson Corporation to the grim discovery of Mason Lockwood's lifeless body. The man had put a bullet in his brain and it didn't make any _bloody_ sense. He'd been put on a top secret assignment by Elijah; even Klaus was unaware of his duties the week before he died. Though, as it were, whatever Elijah had him doing ultimately ended in his death.

After the swarms of police vacated the building and the coroner had claimed the body to run more definitive tests, Klaus had retreated to his office. The beginning of a migraine was starting to take hold on the edges of his consciousness. In his hand are clasped five thin black folders. The folders he had found lying innocently atop of Mason's desk. As Klaus sits back in his chair, he opens the first one curiously.

A familiar face stares back.

Katerina Petrova.

The photo was obviously taken from a distance by the horrendous quality of it. But she looks radiant as she ever did; the elusive heir to Petrova Incorporated and Mikaelson Corporation's main associate. Klaus' frown deepens. The rest of the file is written in some sort of code he does not understand. Without a cipher it could take him days to decode it. Still, it is suspicious. Mason's untimely demise makes it even more so.

Narrowing his eyes, Klaus turns his attention to the second file. As he reaches for it a loud disruption erupts in the hallway outside his office.

"_LET ME IN THERE TO TALK TO THE BASTARD—"_

"Mr. Lockwood, please, _calm down!_"

"_YOU CALM DOWN, MY UNCLE WAS MURDER AND THAT BASTARD COVERED IT UP—_"

"Tyler," his secretary laments softly. "Your uncle killed himself. Mr. Mikaelson had nothing to do with it."

"_Just. Let. Me. See. Him_."

Klaus hits the speaker on his phone and speed dials his secretary's extension. "Send him in," he says curtly right as she answers.

The next moment, his office door swings open and all one hundred and sixty-five pounds of Tyler Lockwood comes stomping towards him. He slams his fists down on Klaus' desk. "_What_ did you do to my uncle," he snarls furiously in accusation.

Klaus peers at the man for a moment. He had heard of Tyler, Mason's hotheaded nephew. He was a violate youth and a celebrity. He was quite the well-paid actor in Hollywood, which no doubt explained his brashness and the attitude that rules didn't apply to him. He was an inconvenience and an annoying one, at that. Klaus places the files down gently on his desk and calmly leans forward, clasping his hands together. "I did nothing to your uncle," he says indifferently, "_he_ was the one who shot himself."

Tyler's face contorts with rage. "You _fucker_," he growls, looking ready to launch himself at Klaus. "You know _very well_ that Mason would never kill himself."

Klaus grits his teeth in irritation. "While Mason Lockwood was in my employment," he begins professionally, "he was not acting under my assignment when he decided he wanted to stick the end of a gun into his mouth and pull the trigger." He stands then. "Good day, Mr. Lockwood. It is the police you will want to discuss this matter further with," he continues, gesturing towards door.

"I'm going to rip you to pieces, you emotionless bastard," Tyler growls suddenly and launches himself at Klaus, fist aimed at his face.

Klaus catches Tyler's arm by the wrist, effectively stopping the blow. "That, Mr. Lockwood," he says dangerously, "was a _very_ stupid thing to do."

An inhuman snarl escapes Tyler's lips as he attempts to swing his opposite fist at Klaus' chest. Klaus deflects the blow, drops his grip on Tyler's wrist and surges forward, wrapping his hand tightly around the younger Lockwood's throat and slamming him up against his office wall. He uses his other arm to pin Tyler's arms at his side. Klaus leans in close, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "Listen _very_ closely Mr. Lockwood," he hisses, "your uncle's death was unfortunate. It was regrettable no one saw the signs … but your _accusations_ will stop. It would be unfortunate if next time you are the one with a bullet in your head; and, unlike your uncle, you shan't have put it there yourself." He pauses, letting his threat sink in. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Fuck you," Tyler spits.

"Fantastic," Klaus glowers, releasing his hold on Tyler after he knocks him to the floor. He saunters carefully back to his desk, hitting the intercom and once again dialing his secretary. "Send security. Tyler Lockwood needs to be escorted from the building," he says nonchalantly as he falls back into his desk's chair.

Tyler rises from the ground with a glare. "I will get to the bottom of this," he promises.

Klaus meets Tyler's glare with an impassive stare. "It has been a _pleasure_," he says condescendingly.

Security comes sauntering into the room then, grabbing Tyler by the shoulders and forcibly removing him. The door slams behind him. Klaus relaxes only slightly. His gaze falls once again on the files lying haphazardly on the top of his desk. He narrows his eyes.

It is time his brother gave him some answers.

Klaus grasps his phone in his hand and brings it up to his ear. He dials Elijah's personal number quickly and waits as it rings. Unsurprisingly, it goes straight to his voicemail. Klaus finds himself mildly irritated.

"Elijah," he says into the receiver. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

_Click_.

.

**WEDNESDAY**

**4:04 AM**

_Mystic Times Headquarters_

.

Caroline Forbes _hates_ mornings; _especially_ early mornings. She is quite convinced they were created as some sort of twisted joke on the universe. Her only saving grace? Coffee; hot, sugary and creamy _coffee_. She clutches the warm concoction in her hands and inhales the tempting fragrance. After a moment of pure bliss, she shifts her gaze to the glaring green numbers on the break room microwave.

4:04 AM.

Someone shoot her now.

"Please tell me these muffins are fresh," Bonnie's says suddenly from her right, startling her.

Caroline eyes the offending muffins. They look a bit moldy. "Not unless fresh means there is tiny civilizations growing on them," she replies with a cringe before taking a sip of her coffee. Oh _god_, she needed that…

"Ugh," Bonnie grimaces as she scoops the muffins up in a paper towel and throws them into the neon yellow trashcan. "I'll take my chances with the bagels…"

"Oh," Caroline hums, advancing on the last cinnamon bagel, "didn't see _that_…"

Bonnie hits her hand playfully. "Back off, bitch," she says, "I saw it first!"

"Hmph, fine," Caroline retorts, rolling her eyes and taking a seat at the nearest table. "This job is going to be the death of me," she moans dramatically.

"Oh quit your complaining, Caroline," Bonnie chastises as she takes the seat opposite her, bagel in hand. "This is your dream job, remember? It's all you could talk about in college: how you were going to be the hottest, cleverest undercover journalist this side of the east coast."

"How the young can dream," she mocks loftily.

Bonnie chuckles.

"Besides," Caroline complains, "you get all the good assignments. I get to infiltrate beauty parlors and answer gossip columns while you're off changing the world."

"You'll get your chance," Bonnie says encouragingly before she promptly inhales the rest of her bagel.

Caroline sulks as she takes another sip of her coffee.

"Your last job went well, maybe Alaric will promote you to something more… world changing?" Bonnie offers, faux smile in place.

"When pigs fly…"

"… and the fat lady sings."

"So, a snowflake would have a better chance in the fires of hell?"

"No comment."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Care."

Caroline stands and chunks her empty coffee mug into the work dishwasher. "Well," she grumbles, "off to another boring day here at Mystic Times. Hopefully the gossip column churns out something interesting today."

Bonnie's laughter is light. "Nothing will ever be as bad as the gonorrhea question."

"God, don't remind me," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose at the memory of it. "I was paranoid for weeks. _Weeks!"_

"See you at lunchtime?" Bonnie inquires with a soft chuckle.

"If I survive that long."

"Always _so _dramatic."

Caroline scrunches up her nose. "I'm being serious. Today is the day I finally kneel over and die."

Bonnie shakes her head and disappears from the break room swiftly, leaving Caroline behind to rue the day she was born. Begrudgingly, she too shuffles out of the room and makes her way over to her neat, pink cubical. Bless Mystic Times for encouraging individualism.

"Good morning, Caroline," Matt Donovan says from the cubical opposite of hers. And gosh, could his blue eyes get any _bluer_? Seriously, the guy could have been a model. Caroline quite thinks life dealt him a cruel set of cards because here he resides, Mystic Times' economic and financial consultant. He has the ill-fated job of writing all the dreadfully _boring_ columns.

"Morning, Matt," she returns, flashing her pearly whites. "How's the economy fairing?"

He laughs. "Terrible. In a recession, you know? And your ladies?"

"Oh, you know, trouble in paradise, all men are pigs … the usual."

Matt smiles. "Don't lead them astray now," he says as he pushes his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. A touch of scarlet warms his cheeks as he averts his gaze from hers.

"Never," she replies with a gasp, mock horror dancing across her features.

Matt turns back to his computer with a soft chuckle. Their morning exchange is over. Caroline cannot help but feel a bit sad. After all, if she wasn't such a commit-a-phobe she might have dated him. She sneaks one last glance at him before she sighs and boots up her computer.

Her work day has begun.

.

**12:04 PM**

.

Caroline stares at the clock on the upper right corner of her computer screen, willing it to go faster. The instant four o'clock rolls around she is _so_ out of this dreary excuse for an office. After all, there are only so many emails a girl can answer before she starts to lose faith in all of womankind. _God, I hope I was never that trivial, _she thinks, _or stupid. _She scrunches up her nose at the last one. Well, perhaps a man or two had made her go a little crazy, but that is all part of being a woman, right? Caroline shakes her head and lets out a loud sigh as she slumps forward in her desk, bemoaning her existence.

Matt chuckles from across the way.

She turns a sharp glare on him. "Don't pretend the stock market is more interesting," she snips before sitting up in her cubicle and turning her chair to face him.

Matt simply smiles and shakes his head, not uttering a word.

_Wise_ man.

Tapping her pen restlessly, Caroline leans just far enough out of her cubicle that her line of vision lines up with Alaric's office. The door is ajar. A slow, mischievous grin takes to her lips. She gets to her feet swiftly, startling Matt. He sends her a questioning glance.

Her smile is faux. "Bathroom break," Caroline whispers with a wink before dashing off out of sight. She steps into the little girl's room and, after she deems herself alone, slips into one of the empty stalls. Caroline exhales, shakes her arms and hops from one foot to the other. The tingling starts in her fingers and toes before it crawls quickly up her extremities, meeting at her heart and then flowing to the back of her eyes. Her heartbeat quickens for a moment and she flexes, calming herself. She unlocks the stall door and her eyes flash to the mirror opposite her.

Empty space reflects back.

She is now invisible to the human eye.

It is an ability she has had ever since she was a little girl and it is her most guarded secret. Her father had told her she was special once before; and then he abandoned her mother for a different man, leaving her behind to think perhaps she wasn't so special after all.

Caroline places her translucent hand over her beating heart and sighs, banishing the thoughts. She has snooping to do. After all, invisibility does have its perks. And, really, it was quite the deciding factor in her decision to become an undercover journalist.

With a quiet whoosh, she exits the women's bathroom and heads sneakily towards Alaric's office. She lets out a soft sigh in relief that the door is still ajar. Her feet pad against the carpet softly as she advances towards her boss's desk. She looks around for a moment before spotting a mundane looking file cabinet.

_Employee records_, reads the top most drawer in bold black letters. She pulls it open with ease and begins flipping through the myriad of files until she comes to hers.

Forbes, Caroline.

She pulls it free and places it on the desk, opening it quickly. After a quick scan words like _inexperienced, inefficient, _and _spacey_ stand out like a sore thumb. She feels her heart tighten in disappointment. She had known she wasn't exactly Alaric's favorite employee but… _that_ stung a bit. Her eyes water and her heart falls into the pit of her stomach.

_I am never going to be good enough, am I?_ She wonders as she lets the file fall from her fingertips back on to the desktop. She moves to exit the office and wallow in her own despair when she hears the familiar timbre of Alaric's voice. For a moment she panics, until she realizes he will not be able to see her. She walks calmly across the room and stands next to the file cabinet, waiting with baited breath.

.

.

.

"Mr. Lockwood, I'm glad you came to us with this," Alaric Saltzman says, gesturing for Tyler to take a seat as he shuffles around his desk and plops down in his chair.

Tyler Lockwood sits opposite of Alaric, irritated expression in place. "The police are useless," he says, glaring out the open office window. "I trust this newspaper could be much more helpful?"

Caroline can barely contain herself. _The_ Tyler Lockwood is sitting in her boss' office talking about the police and holy mackerel this may just be the juiciest gossip she has ever come across. Mystic Times is a huge newspaper, sure, but didn't celebrities usually go to the _press_?

Alaric nods. "We have many talented and resourceful journalists. All of which would be able to infiltrate Mikaelson Corporation with ease and discover what you wish. Though, I must warn you, it would take _time_. These things do not often come to light quickly."

A grimace takes to Tyler's face. "Yeah. Whatever. I just want the truth found out about my uncle. There is no way Mason killed himself. Those damn Mikaelson's had to of killed him."

Caroline slaps a hand over her mouth, effectively quelling the gasp that threatened to escape. She has heard of the Mikaelson brothers, who hasn't after all? Not only are they young and the heads of Mikaelson Corporation, they are also very adept in the Mystic Falls social circle.

Alaric frowns as though he does not fully believe his prospective source. On the same note, should it turn out that Tyler's accusations are in fact valid, it would be the sensational story of a lifetime. After all, it is not every day a celebrity comes knocking on a newspaper's front door, offering some sad story about a corporation covering up the murder of his uncle.

"Our best is Bonnie Bennett," Alaric supplies, pushing a picture of Bonnie forward; she is smiling in the photo, looking radiant as ever.

Caroline scowls. _Of course._

Tyler frowns. "She has been on many assignments?"

"Yes, she is quite good at what she does, Mr. Lockwood."

His eyes narrow. "Then no."

Caroline cannot help but grin.

Alaric frowns. "Would you like to tell me _why?"_

Tyler leans forward. "If she is as good as you say, then you must use her skills frequently. I want someone with less of a chance of getting found out."

Alaric grits his teeth. "Very well."

Tyler peers across the desk and his eyes fall on Caroline's file, still lying open where she left it. Her breath catches as he reaches forward and snatches it up into his grip. "And who would this Caroline Forbes be?" He asks causally, a glint in his eye.

"No," Alaric says automatically, eyeing the file suspiciously. "She's _too_ inexperienced."

"Oh?" Tyler murmurs, tracing his fingers over the front of her photo. "She's a pretty one."

Caroline's cheeks, had they been visible, would surely have been a bright crimson.

"A pretty, inexperienced, _off limits_ journalist," Alaric reminds, snatching the file back.

Tyler glares. "Either you use her or I will take my story _elsewhere_."

Alaric pauses. "Mr. Lockwood, I don't think you unders—"

Tyler gets to his feet. "Later," he snaps and he turns to go.

"No, wait, _wait!_"

Tyler pauses with a smirk and turns back around. "So you agree?"

Alaric's mouth twists into a displeased scowl. "I will _ask_ her."

"Good," Tyler chimes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to take care off."

Alaric nods and gestures for him to leave.

Caroline follows after Tyler as he opens the office door, a pep in her step.

_Finally_, her day has come!

.

.

.

* * *

**Thoughts? Comments? Loved it? Hated it? Should I quit while I am a head? Hahaha! Reviews are greatly appreciated it.**

**Follow me on tumblr for updates and teasers. URL is: candisaccola.  
**

**xoxo,  
Muffintine  
**

**;)  
**


	2. Chapter II

**Hey guys! Here's an update just for all of you! Special thanks to Tanya, Lulu & Kat for their continued encouragement and support!**

**Don't own, never will.  
**

**This chapter is not beta'd. I apologize for any errors.  
**

* * *

.

**WEDNESDAY**

**1:00 PM**

Mikaelson Corporation

.

Three calls and two voicemails later, Klaus is ready to murder Elijah in cold blood. It is not unlike him to become consumed by work, but to downright ignore his own flesh and blood for more than a day is inexcusable. Especially the after one of their employees decides to off himself the day prior. Klaus is not good with the press or the public eye. He is charismatic enough to run his section of the corporation, but his anger always gets the best of him when nosy reporters come poking around. He is quite known to the press for his sharp tongue and the fact that he has no problem breaking a few expensive cameras.

Klaus dials Elijah's number again. It takes all he has not to throw his phone at the wall when it goes straight to voicemail _again_. Quickening his pace, he rounds another corner and spots his brother's office up ahead. His secretary, a pretty redhead looks up, startled by his sudden approach. "Niklaus," she says politely, a nervous twinge to her voice. "Elijah isn't expecting you."

"No," Klaus all but growls at the woman, "he wouldn't be."

She shrinks back into her chair, fiddling with the loose fabric on the right armrest. "He's a bit preoccupied at the moment," she begins, "I'll tell him you stop—wait, wait _you_ can't just—"

Klaus glares at the woman and stomps past her, swinging his brother's office door open with an angry slam. Elijah looks up from his desk, impassive expression in place. He doesn't seem surprised in the least to see him. "Niklaus," he greets, "take a seat."

"I've been calling you," Klaus snarls, striding forward and slamming his hands palm down on top of the desk.

Elijah arches a perfect brow and spares a glance at his cellphone. "That is unfortunate," he says coolly. "I was regrettably forced to turn my cellphone off after the fifth incessant reporter called me this morning," he looks back to Klaus and adds, "I do have a company extension, you know."

The rage billowing off Klaus like a flame cools slightly at this information. "Then you know," he hisses, pointedly ignoring Elijah's last comment.

"About Lockwood?" Elijah questions. "Of course," he confirms offhandedly as he shuffles through the rather large pile of paperwork on his desk. "Take a seat, Niklaus," he repeats sternly, gesturing to the leather padded seat just to his right. "We've something to discuss judging by the obvious anger behind your visit."

Begrudgingly, Klaus eases into the chair, his gaze never leaving his brother. After a moment of silence he reaches into the right inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out Katerina's black folder. He tosses it onto Elijah's desk. "Explain why that was in Mason's possession. And why it is written in code."

Elijah pauses, his fingers moving to deftly open the folder as he scans the contents swiftly. His face hardens and he presses his lips into a thin, hard line. When his eyes meet Niklaus', his gaze is serious. "You will leave this alone, Niklaus," he says evenly, "if you know what is best for you."

"You _dare_ threaten me?"

"No," Elijah replies with a shake of his head. "It is merely a warning."

"You know that will not detour me," Klaus snaps, snatching the file back.

"Perhaps not," Elijah says nonchalantly. "Though, you may not like what you find."

"You will regret keeping this from me," Klaus growls, the anger returning, bubbling within his chest and making it hard for him to breathe. His hands begin to shake and the back of his teeth start to ache.

Elijah's gaze sharpens. "Niklaus, _calm yourself_," he demands, slight apprehension flooding his features.

"I will not," comes Klaus' reply, the words ripping from his throat with an animalistic roar. The sweet metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as he gives a low growl. He lurches forward, his back distorting unbearably as every bone in his body breaks, sounding with a horrible crack. As he opens his mouth to let out a pathetic half whine, half growl, his human teeth fall onto Elijah's desk in a bloody mess. Long, thick claws sprout from his nail beds and amber fur begins grow, forcing itself through his ripped and ruined suit.

"Niklaus," Elijah rumbles as he gets to his feet, hands flashing forward to hold his brother still. "You can stop this," he reminds calmly. "Remember. _You_ control this."

But it is no use. Klaus' vision has already gone red. He can feel the animal in him taking over, the instincts rushing over him in a mad wave. He falls to the ground, the pain becoming too much for his mind to handle. Hot, angry tears of pain rush down his face as tuffs of amber and white hair grow outwards from his skin. "He…lp… me," he struggles to say, blood pouring form his mouth as his new, sharper canines rip through his gums.

Pity consumes Elijah as he steps back, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a syringe containing a bright blue substance. He crouches down, stabbing the needle into Klaus' neck, injecting the blue antidote.

With a strangled whine, darkness takes him.

.

.

.

The warm scent of tea lulls Klaus into consciousness. He sits up with a groan, his whole body aching something awful. The first thing he notices is that he is on the floor and that his three thousand dollar suit has been ripped to shreds. He looks up, his eyes immediately coming to rest on Elijah. He is sitting in the leather chair Klaus had previously occupied, a cup of tea in his hand and a deep frown etched into his lips.

Klaus grips at the carpet angrily. "It happened again, didn't it?"

Elijah sets the teacup down on his desk and gets to his feet. "I had Rita bring a teapot and a spare suit," he says as he pours another glass. He sets the teapot down and turns to face Klaus who is dressing quickly, scowl in place. "You told me you had it under control."

"I _do_ have it under control," Klaus snarls as he buttons up his shirt.

Elijah sips his tea and doesn't say a word edgewise.

"Our wolfsbane stock is quite low," Elijah says casually, pushing the other teacup towards Klaus.

Klaus stills. "_What?_"

Elijah's smile is tight. "It seems Petrova Inc. was able to secure all of our sellers. Now they are refusing to sell to us. Leaves you in quite a pinch, now, doesn't it Niklaus?" He leans forward, expression knowing. "So tell me brother, do you have _it_ under control?"

Klaus' silence is all the affirmation Elijah needs.

"If you insist on making denial your friend, then by all means," Elijah says cavalierly, pausing only to take another sip of his tea. "However, there are only three syringes left. It is all good and well when you can control it—but when you can't? It would be a shame to add more body bags to your every growing pile."

His eyes darken, but Klaus manages to remain composed. "I will find out what you are hiding from me Elijah," he sneers, "and what Katerina has to do with it."

"Ah, Katerina," Elijah muses as he reflexively straightens out the front of his suit jacket, "I do so very much doubt that."

With a glare and the turn of his heel, Klaus storms out, slamming the door behind him.

He is in need of a run.

And a bottle of _very_ expensive whiskey.

.

**2:34 PM**

Mystic Times Headquarters

.

Caroline sits there innocently, clacking away at her keyboard when Alaric approaches her cubicle, displeased grimace in place. "Miss Forbes," he greets, an agitated edge to his voice.

She looks up, doe eyed and the picture of innocence. "Yes, Mr. Saltzman?"

He places the simple manila folder on her desk and leans in close. "You've been requested," he says through gritted teeth. "Don't screw it up."

"Requested?" she questions idly.

"For some undercover work," he supplies tensely. "Read the file and report to my office tomorrow morning for briefing." With that, he walks off with an angry gait.

Caroline can barely contain her happiness. Once Alaric rounds the corner, she shoots up out of her chair and twirls, jumping up and down, her cheeks flushed. "Yes!" she chimes, giggling maddeningly. Her heart is bursting with excitement and oh, just can't wait until Bonnie hears the good news! This time it will be she that is bragging and Bonnie who's playing the ever dutiful friend.

"It isn't time to go home yet, is it?" Matt says sheepishly from his cubicle, eyebrows raised comically.

Caroline's face flushes darker and she quickly falls back into her chair, thoroughly embarrassed. "Not yet," she replies, "I suppose I just got a little excited."

Matt laughs. "A little?"

"Okay, well maybe _a lot_ excited," she corrects. "But, hush you."

"Say, Caroline," he begins, and she can just feel her heart drop into the pit of her stomach as she recognizes the look that takes to his face. "Wanna get a drink after work? Mystic Grill?"

She purses her lips together. "Sorry Matt," she begins diplomatically, "I already have—"

"Plans, right," he finishes for her, wincing in humiliation and averting his gaze.

Caroline smiles softly, trying to ease the burn. He's an attractive guy, really but she has some personal issues that need a _serious_ look over. And besides, some relationships are better left in the _what if _pile of life. "Another time?"

"Yeah, maybe," comes his rigid reply.

Caroline sighs and turns back to her computer, happy moment successfully ruined. Why couldn't she have said yes? Her personality is so terrible she really just can't with herself sometimes. She returns to her task of answering emails whilst wishing fervently it was four o'clock.

.

**4:00 PM**

.

The moment the clock hits four o'clock, Caroline heads straight for the door, shrugging on her warm white winter jacket and pulling her phone from her purse. She is eager to call Bonnie and set an afternoon gossip date. Instead, she finds an incoming text message from her friend.

_Congrats care. busy tonight! will tell you about it later! xoxo bonnie_, the text reads. Caroline huffs. There goes her well-earned bragging hour. Well, might as well go with Plan B. If she's going to infiltrate the Mikaelson Corporation she's going to need a lot more than her university training and her invisible talent. Caroline grins, skimming through her contacts list until she comes to the name she was looking for: Salvatore, Damon. She presses call, holds the phone up to her ear and waits.

"_Damon Salvatore. If you're hearing this message, I'm probably ignoring you,_" the voicemail says in Damon's characteristic sardonic tone.

Caroline rolls her eyes. "Typical," she groans, tossing her cellphone back into her purse. She will have to show up unannounced then. It isn't like she hasn't before. Though, knowing Damon it is highly probably she may walk in on something she would really be better off not witnessing.

It takes her fifteen minutes to reach Damon's family home, the Salvatore Boarding House, right outside the city limit. It is tucked away in a nice wooded area and is quite homely. She parks her car and saunters right up to the door. The sound of drilling greets her ears. She knocks.

And then knocks again.

No answer.

He obviously cannot hear her over the sound of his drill. Well, if that isn't inconvenient. Giving a huff, Caroline leans down, moving the fake rock to the right of the door, and fetching the spare key. She slips it into the keyhole and twists; the door unlocks without much trouble. Inside she waltzes, closing the door behind her with a silent click.

She glides through the hallway with ease, following the sound. As she walks closer, a devious plot forms in her mind. She sets her purse down on the coffee table in the living room and sighs, feeling the familiar tingle disperse throughout her body. Her heart shudders and her eyes burn; she knows she is now translucent. A playful smile on her lips, she pads into Damon's workshop.

There he resides, hunched over his wooden work table, wielding helmet in place and drill drilling away at some gadget should can't, for the life of her, discern what it is. Several other items line his work space, all in difference stages of completion. Caroline glances at Damon and, with a devilish smirk, she begins to pick the items up one by one, inspecting each. He doesn't notice at first, but when he does she knows. A slew of curses leave his mouth as he abruptly lets go of the drill, which spins horribly on the work desk knocking all sorts of things over.

Caroline laughs hysterically, loses her concentration and slowly fades back into visibility.

"Oh, it's _you_," Damon drawls in irritation, pushing his wielding helmet up on to the top of his head. "Christ, Barbie," he continues, snatching up his drill, "use the doorbell next time, will you?"

She leans up against the work desk, laughter still light on her lips. "You wouldn't answer your phone," she accuses.

Damon does that infuriating eyes movement of his before snapping his helmet down in one fluid motion. "Perhaps that has to do with the fact that I'm oh, I don't know, _busy_," he says, revving the drill in emphasis. "Now get out."

Caroline rolls her eyes. "You're infuriating."

"And you're annoying," he returns. "Glad we can _finally_ agree on something."

"Whatever," she snaps, narrowing her eyes before adding, "_nerd_."

She cannot see his face, but she knows he is frowning. She's struck a chord. "Says the materialistic, neurotic control freak," he quips, starting up the drill again and beginning in on his project once more.

Caroline snatches the drill from Damon's loose grasp. "Would you quit with the insults for two seconds?" she asks. "I seriously need your help."

Damon sighs exaggeratedly. "Every time you say that sentence I end up barely escaping the full extent of the law."

"You _do not_."

"Name _one_ time you asked me for a favor that the cops didn't come aknockin'."

Caroline opens her mouth to retort and then closes it, frowning.

"That's what I thought. So whatever it is you're going to ask me, the answer is no. Go find yourself another wealthy genius."

Caroline snorts derisively. "You're really going to turn down your oldest friend?"

"Hm, let me think about that," a beat, "yes, yes I am."

Caroline chunks a small gadget at Damon's head. He dodges.

"Violent woman!" Damon exclaims dramatically with a shake his head. "You're _never_ going to find a husband the rate you're going!"

"Oh shut up, Damon. I haven't even told you what I need help with."

"The answer is still… yup, still no, no, no, and did I mention _no?_"

"Even if I'm going on a super-secret undercover job that requires me to infiltrate the Mikaelson Corporation, the pompous bastards you claim to hate?"

Damon frowns. "That is just not fair," he complains, once again flipping his wielding helmet upwards onto his head.

Caroline smirks. "So you'll help me?"

"_Begrudgingly_."

She grins. "I knew you would!"

Damon saunters over to the loveseat by the window seal and sits down. He pats the cushion next to him. "Start from the beginning."

.

.

.

Caroline whistles to herself as she walks to her car. In her hand is clasped a bag filled with all sorts of patented gadgets Damon had personally selected for her. He'd promised to be available to her at all times via earpiece in case she found herself in a tight situation. Placing the bag in her passenger side seat, she slides into the driver's side and heads home.

Tomorrow is a big day for her, after all.

.

**THURSDAY**

**5:25 AM**

Mystic Times Headquarters

.

Caroline squirms under Alaric's intense gaze.

"You read the files?" he asks skeptically.

She nods. "Of course," she begins nervously. "I will be working as Niklaus Mikaelson's temporary personal secretary," she rattles on, "seeing as his currently secretary has won an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe."

"Your objective?"

"Discover the working relationship Mason Lockwood and Niklaus maintained previous to his death. I shall try and uncover if Mr. Mikaelson was in anyway directly responsible for Lockwood's death earlier this week," she regurgitates perfectly, smiling towards the end.

Alaric grunts in reply.

Caroline clears her throat and continues. "Today will be my first day. I will keep a low profile, find what I need, and then return home. This will be my routine until I recover new information or you pull me."

Alaric leans forward. "You are expected to arrive at seven AM. From there, you will be on your own," he pauses. "Are you sure you're up to this, Miss Forbes?"

She nods resolutely. "Yes sir."

Alaric sighs. "Please, for the love of god, don't screw this up."

Her mouth forms a hard line. "I won't." She gets up at once and exits the office, a bit miffed. She would show Alaric. She would be the best damn undercover journalist this city had ever seen, so help her.

It is exactly six forty-five AM when she arrives outside Mikaelson Corporation. She has donned a pair of black-rimmed glasses and braided her hair into two braids that hang on each side of her face; inconspicuous, she is so on top of it. After a sharp inhale of air, she scurries in to the skyscraper. As she makes a b-line for the only open elevator, she slips her credentials over her neck. "Hold the elevator!' she calls, quickening her pace.

The man standing in the elevator sends her a cursory glance but makes no move to hold the elevator. She grits her teeth and all but throws herself in the elevator as the doors close behind her. She huffs, leaning against the metal bar at the back of the small enclosed space. She glares sharply at the man as she fixes her stray strands of loose hair. "I asked you to hold the elevator," she huffs angrily.

The man doesn't even look at her. "You did," he replies matter-of-factly, his deep British timbre taking her by surprise.

She can feel irritation bubbling in her chest. "Then why didn't you hold it?"

He spares her a glance, soft smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. He shrugs. "Seemed like a lot of effort for so little an award."

"Are all British men this rude?" she snaps crossly, folding her arms across her chest.

He raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Are all American women this brash?" he counters.

She whips around to face him, sticking her finger in his face. "You, sir," she snarls, "need to learn some manners."

The elevator dings and slides open right on cue.

"Well, aren't you just the regular spitfire, love," he remarks with a smirk as he steps out of the elevator, leaving her behind fuming.

Her morning isn't going quite as she planned. Mood now soured, Caroline stomps down the hallway towards the direction she has been told Niklaus Mikaelson's office is located. She somehow manages to get all sorts of turned around and has to be redirected. When she finally reaches her destination, she is red-faced and out of breath. She glances at her wristwatch. She's five minutes late. Alaric is going to murder her.

Straightening out her suit, Caroline walks into the office with purpose, hand held out, and brilliant smile in place. "Caroline Forbes, I'm your new...," she trails off, her mouth falling agape as she takes in the man before her.

The man from the elevator.

The one she _yelled_ at.

Klaus smirks back at her. "Yes, I know," he supplies with an amused edge. "You're to be my new secretary. Fantastic." He gets to his feet and walks over to her, grasping her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He kisses the top of her hand softly as he looks up at her through half-lidded sea green eyes. "Niklaus Mikaelson. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Caroline has the sudden urge to throw herself from the building.

.

**8:02 AM**

Below Petrova Incorporated

.

Katerina walks down the long, dark, and damp passage, her heels clicking against the stone flooring. She comes to a stop in front of a barred cell and crouches down, peering in at the figure hunched in the corner. She wraps her hands around the rusting bars and leans in, her breathe visible in the cold air. "It seems one of the Mikaelson boys know about you," she says in that same sultry tone she always uses. "Elijah, to be precise; I'm impressed, honestly. Don't worry though," she purrs, "I will remedy that soon enough."

The figure stirs slightly, large brown eyes weary.

Katerina laughs, the sound manic and cruel. "This will all be over soon enough," she promises.

After one last lingering stare, Katerina gets to her feet and saunters away, knowing smirk resting upon her blood red lips.

.

.

.

* * *

**Thoughts? Comments? Constructive Criticism? I'd love to hear it! Drop me a lovely review if you are so inclined. Now that Klaus and Caroline have finally met, things can start to heat up. ;)**

**Follow me on tumblr for updates and teasers. URL is: candisaccola.  
**

**xoxo,  
Muffintine  
**

******;)**  



End file.
